


superbat (with friends!)

by mitzvahmelting



Category: DCU
Genre: BDSM, Banter, Bottom Bruce, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Safe Sane and Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 01:32:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13225386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitzvahmelting/pseuds/mitzvahmelting
Summary: For Superbat Secret Santa 2017In which Clark and Bruce invite Ollie, Dinah, and Hal into their play, and everyone has a good time.





	superbat (with friends!)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Супербэт (теперь с друзьями!)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16111943) by [fandom_Metropolis_2018](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_Metropolis_2018/pseuds/fandom_Metropolis_2018)



> this is... really not my usual style... 
> 
> Like, I'm into angst! Drama! Porn with a side of ethics!
> 
> but this is straight up porn with a side of fluff. hope you enjoy!

“You’re going to stay here.”

“Yes.”

“You’re going to stay still, and you’re not going to untie yourself.”

“…yes.”

Clark pulls a knot tight with his teeth, then says, “They’re going to touch you, and you don’t have to like it, but you’re going to let them. Understood?”

Bruce’s wrist pulls one of the ropes taut.

“Is that understood?” Clark repeats, firmly.

“Or what?”

“Hmm?”

“What if I don’t let them.” Bruce is blindfolded, but his face tracks Clark’s movements as if he can see him.

Clark laughs—a tiny sound, a snicker. “You and I both know that won’t be an issue.” At super speed, he presses a kiss against the corner of his captive’s mouth, and he pulls back in time to watch Bruce’s reaction, to see him gasp. “This was the deal, hon. This is how you earn your place.”

“By letting your friends fuck me.”

“They’re _our_ friends. And you said you wanted me to challenge you.”

“I was anticipating physical labor.”

“Oh, I think this will be plenty labor-intensive.” Clark smacks an ass cheek, the force of it has Bruce’s body swinging slightly in its suspension. Bruce doesn’t flinch. Clark continues, “don’t you think this will be a nice team-building exercise?”

“None of them will fear Batman anymore,” says Bruce, which doesn’t really answer Clark’s question.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is.”

“You don’t mean that,” Clark says. “And, if you do, we don’t have to do this. You know your safeword.”

Bruce scowls.

“But I don’t think you’ll need it, will you?” Clark muses. “I think you can’t wait to give your whole body up to them. Everything…” He thumbs some of the slick between Bruce’s cheeks, leftover from preparing him.

“—Clark. Stop.”

“How’s your color?” Clark asks.

Bruce hesitates, worries his bottom lip with his teeth before muttering, “Green. But—”

“So we’re all good here, then.” For a moment, Clark floats up off the floor, and takes Bruce into his arms to kiss him, and let the ropes go slack for a moment. Bruce kisses urgently, and tries to grab at Clark despite the binds on his wrists. “If you’re good,” Clark promises after breaking the kiss, “we’ll spend this whole weekend celebrating. You and me in the Fortress. No distractions. Anything you want.”

“Don’t leave,” Bruce chokes out, as Clark begins lowering him and letting the ropes take his weight. “Don’t you dare leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Clark promises.

“I don’t care if a super volcano explodes, you’re going to stay right in this room.”

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world, Bruce.”

“I’ll kill you if you leave. I’ll kill you and bring you back and kill you again.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“This isn’t a _joke,_ Kent!”

Clark pets his hair, rubs his shoulder. “Hush,” he whispers, “I’m right here, love.”

“You’d better be.”

A kiss. “Color?”

“Green, you fucker.”

“Mmm. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I oughtta gag that mouth of yours.”

“Try it and you’ll lose a finger.”

“Or you’ll lose a tooth.”

“Worth it.”

 

Ollie, Dinah, and Hal arrive. They hesitate for only a fraction of a second, when they first catch sight of Bruce, suspended in a web of ropes and bindings, with his knees near his chest and his most sensitive places exposed. Ollie enters the Watchtower guest room first, and he lets out a nostalgic sigh. “Just like old times.”

Bruce snorts. “I sure hope not.”

“Hey!” Ollie yelps, mock-offended as Dinah and Hal snicker at him. “I’m not the one all tied up here, doesn’t that mean I’m owed a bit of respect?”

“Not if you suck cock like a boarding school virgin.”

“Allll right,” Hal interjects, “ _someone’s_ especially prickly tonight.” He slides the fingers of one hand through Bruce’s hair. Bruce can feel the ridge of the Lantern ring drag across his scalp.

“Don’t take it personally,” Dinah says conciliatorily, as she takes her place to Bruce’s left, running her knuckles admiringly up taut thigh muscle. “He gets like this when he’s horny.”

Hal gives her a curious look. “You sound like you speak from experience.”

“Don’t we all?”

Clark smiles from the corner, perched on the counter of the kitchenette. Ollie is glancing back at him, just to check in and confirm that everything is alright, and Clark gives him a nod of affirmation, saying aloud, “Don’t mind me, I’m not even here.”

“Yes, you are,” says Bruce.

Clark rolls his eyes. “Thank you, Detective, I was using the figure of speech.”

Bruce grumbles something hard to make out, and then he goes very silent. Ollie is pressing kisses to the back of his knee, and then down the inside of his thigh. Bruce can’t see it, but Ollie keeps looking up at Bruce’s face as he does so, watching for a reaction. Whatever he finds there, it isn’t much—a twitch of his lip, a tension in his brow, a short intake of breath—but it seems to encourage Ollie.

Clark admires the scene. He knows this is a fantasy for Bruce, to be used like this. It’s a fantasy for Clark as well. Maybe it has to do with the fact that Clark always feels safest on the outside looking in. Or maybe it just aligns nicely with his well-trodden cuckolding kink, to see Bruce in the center of everyone’s attention, sweating and aroused.

Clark doesn’t touch himself. He does get hard, but he only palms himself through his trousers. This isn’t really… sexual, in that sense, for Clark. It’s more of an… aesthetic pleasure, or intellectual pleasure. Some sort of deep satisfaction.

 

“Let the record show,” says Ollie, in his bedroom voice, so close that Bruce can feel his breath against goosebumps-speckled skin, “that I was not actually the boarding school virgin of this relationship.”

Dinah groans. “Here we go again.”

“I was more like a Casanova, thank you very much. And _someone_ just couldn’t get enough of me, right Brucie?”

“—in your dreams, Queen.”

“Shall I prove it?”

Bruce squirms in the bonds, and Hal steadies him before he starts swinging. “You could try,” says Bruce.

And Bruce can feel Ollie’s scruff against the sensitive insides of his thighs, as slowly but surely the man’s mouth finally descends to kiss the tip of Bruce’s erection.

Dinah wraps her arms around Bruce’s neck from behind, and she perches her chin on his shoulder, so she can watch Ollie. She can feel the way he reacts to Ollie’s mouth; the inaudible moan at the back of his throat, the tension flickering up and down his spine. “Ohh, he likes that,” she says.

“Can’t blame him,” Hal remarks. “This _is_ Ollie’s one and only talent, after all.”

Dinah flicks Hal in the shoulder, and Ollie (still sucking on Bruce) flips his middle finger at Hal. Finally, Ollie lets off with a pop, and he looks at Hal pointedly. “If I recall correctly, Jordan, this is _your_ area of expertise.”

Hal puts up his palms placatingly. “I wouldn’t want to step on the toes of the boarding school Casanova.”

“No, no, I insist,” Ollie says, tugging Hal forward to Bruce’s front. “Why don’t you deepthroat him, Hal? Better use of your mouth than goading me.”

Instead of rebuking Ollie, Hal just smirks and rubs his hands together to warm them up. “Don’t mind if I do,” he says.

Hal is much rougher and self-assured than Ollie. He sucks on the head hard and fast just to get a reaction out of Bruce, to get him invested and groaning. Then he pulls away, and presses kisses down Bruce’s hip, driving Bruce mad with how gentle the touch is.

Ollie makes a face at Hal’s enthusiasm. “Show-off.”

“That’s the trick,” says Hal. “Show him what he’s missing, and then keep it just out of reach.” He purses his lips to blow a puff of cool air at Bruce’s wet tip, and the man shudders.

“As thrilling as it is to watch Hal give a blowjob,” Dinah interrupts mildly, “it does seem a bit tame, given the circumstances.”

“Mmm, okay,” hums Ollie. “What did you have in mind?”

Dinah is very straightforward about it, her fingernails resting possessively against Bruce’s collarbone as she says, “I want you to fuck him, and stretch him wide enough to take my whole hand.”

Either the words themselves or the sensation of Hal swallowing has Bruce grunting, and bucking against the bonds.

“That’s—” Ollie chokes out, his face bright red, “that’s not a bad idea.”

With his face wet with spit and precum, Hal grins up at her. “Shall I do the honors?” he asks, with a wiggle of his fingers.

 

Clark checks in with Bruce before the fucking starts in earnest. The three guests step back for a moment, in deference to Clark’s presence, so he can get close to Bruce. Clark asks for his color—green. Asks if he wants water or something, if he feels safe, if— “For God’s sake, Clark,” says Bruce, “get on with it.”

“Good subs don’t talk back,” says Clark, firmly.

Bruce’s mouth opens, as if to say something, but then he shuts it.

Clark feels a little guilty for pulling the power imbalance in this context. He may as well have slapped Bruce. The shock and betrayal that flashes across Bruce’s face gives way to arousal, and then submission. _Don’t rush me,_ Clark is thinking, helplessly, _don’t rush me through the precautions I take to protect you. I love you, and I want you to be safe. Don’t rush me._

Maybe this will put Bruce into a headspace where he’s less mouthy and impatient.

The room is silent for a moment, and then finally Bruce says more softly, “thank you. I needed… thank you.”

“You ready?” Clark asks, gently.

Bruce nods, and behind the blindfold his eyes are shut tight with anticipation.

 

He swings. When Ollie fucks into him, he swings, and gravity pulls him back down onto Ollie’s cock. It feels—inevitable, mechanical in the way that makes Bruce feel more like an object than a subject. Which is… definitely not a bad thing. Bruce doesn’t react much to the fucking itself. It’s a physical thing, and as Batman he has no difficulty holding back responses to physical discomfort.

When they start talking to him, though, it becomes far more intense.

Ollie stops, and grips Bruce’s hips. “You’re like a human Fleshlight,” he mutters to Bruce, “I swear to God.”

Bruce can feel sweat dripping from his hair and soaking into the fabric of the blindfold. Ollie’s cock is thick and hot inside him. “Nn—I can do better,” he huffs out.

“How so?” Ollie asks, caressing Bruce’s hip.

Bruce clenches his muscles around Ollie, and Ollie leans his forehead against Bruce’s and moans in his lowest register. “I like that,” he says.

The half-smile looks wild and unhinged on Bruce’s face.

“But I like fucking you, more,” Ollie whispers, and bucks his hips in deeper, forcing a groan out of Bruce.

Hal ends up being much gentler, but only because the conversation between Ollie and Bruce had given him ideas. “Bear down for me, baby,” he tells Bruce, “I want you to try and keep me out. You won’t be able to—want you to _know_ how helpless you are.”

Bruce does as instructed, and Hal penetrates him with no difficulty. Bruce’s breathing comes quick—Hal was right, now he knows. There’s no escape, there’s no fighting back.

“There’s a good slut, good job,” whispers Hal, and to Bruce it’s like a punch in the gut.

He’s a fuckhole—that’s what this is about.

He’s a fuckhole, and Clark is watching him. Bruce is being called a slut, and Clark is letting it happen, Clark is letting them use that word.

The fact that all of this is happening with Clark’s approval is so good; it’s pushing Bruce past so many layers of cognitive incoherence.

 

Hal pulls in a folding table, a platform to hold Bruce up when it’s Dinah’s turn, because she needs him as relaxed as possible, and the suspension doesn’t help with that. Hal was going to just make a construct, but Clark insisted on the table, “Just in case you get a little… distracted.” Which, fair point.

“Well, look at that,” says Dinah, and her voice is reverent, like a scientist admiring a specimen. “I must admit, I find it very erotic to see you like this,” she says, reaching up to pet his hair. “To know that you want this _so much_ that you’d sacrifice your pride for it. Your pride is very important to you, isn’t it, Bruce?”

His fingers grip helplessly in the open air. “Sacrificing my pride is… the whole reason I do this.”

“You like debasing yourself,” she supplies.

He nods wordlessly. Her smile, which had been wicked, gentles at his assent into something warm and fond. He can’t see that, and maybe that’s why she lets herself do it, lets herself bask for a moment in the fact that Bruce… knows himself, knows what he wants, and has found a relatively healthy outlet for that.

“You’re so wet,” she tells him, confidentially, as she inspects his hole still loose and slick from Hal and Ollie. “You could take anything. You could take it.”

“I think about that, sometimes,” Hal offers from beside her. “I think about all those alien species with like… tiny intellects, enormous cocks… I could throw you to them, Bruce, for a night or two. Get you plowed over and over again, filled with alien cum.”

Before Bruce can come back with a retort, Dinah runs her fingers up and down his slick cock, neglected in their play. His voice dies in his throat, and with the slack in the ropes he’s able to spread his legs wider, and offer himself up.

Dinah glances over at Hal and winks. “I think he already gets his fair share of alien cum.”

“That’s—what I was about to say,” Bruce mumbles.

“Not my fault you turn to mush when we touch you nicely,” Dinah quips back at him. “Mm, I think I should put on gloves.”

“Ya think?” Ollie chuckles, gesturing to her fingernails, “with claws like that?”

“Here,” interjects Clark, and he tosses her a pair of medical gloves. Dinah grins at Clark and calls him a boy scout. He smiles back and shrugs, murmuring, “Be prepared.”

 

It’s not the actual _sensation_ that gets him. Dinah’s hand is not very difficult to take at all, equivalent in girth to the medium-sized toys he and Clark use sometimes. It’s not the physical sensation that drives him mad…

It’s the knowledge that she’s _done it_. That he’s so open, she could just…

His chin is pressed hard against his collarbone as he breathes short breaths through his nose, as her knuckles runs deliberately against his prostate.

“Now, now, you’re making it hard to watch the show,” chastises Hal, as he pushes Bruce’s knees farther apart. Bruce hadn’t realized he’d been closing his legs.

Ollie is chuckling, murmuring, “I’ve never heard you so vocal, pal,” even though Bruce doesn’t remember _saying_ anything.

Unless the breathy, choked off cursing and begging is coming from _him…_

“Alright, baby,” croons Dinah, running her palm over his fluttering stomach, “I’m going to make you come, now.”

And her free hand wraps around him as her fingers spread inside, and he doesn’t remember much after that, except the lightning-bolt pleasure that left him burning and squeezing and shouting.

 

Ollie is about to try to wipe down Bruce lovingly with a washcloth, when Clark puts a hand on his shoulder. “I’d prefer to do that myself,” says Clark.

“Uhh,” says Ollie, “right, right, okay,” and he cedes the washcloth to Clark. “Sorry, man, I’m used to doing the aftercare. Wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s no problem,” says Clark, but he might not really mean it. He gets a bit possessive of Bruce in this state. Bruce’s eyes are shut tight behind the mask, and his body is ragdoll-loose, spread in the position Dinah left him in.

Ollie turns around, to look for his pants on the floor in the pile of his and Hal and Dinah’s clothes. The other two are already half-dressed. Dinah put her t-shirt on without the bra. She’s got a lazy smile on her face.

“Wait—” says Bruce, and he reaches out towards Ollie.

With a glance at Clark (who gives a nod of permission), Ollie steps forward into Bruce’s space again. “What is it, champ?”

Awkwardly, Bruce lifts his head up towards where Ollie’s voice came from, and when their foreheads bump, he meets Ollie’s lips with a kiss that tastes like cum and desperation. “Thank you for using me,” he whispers, with a ghost of a smile.

Ollie runs his fingers through Bruce’s sweat-matted hair and kisses his forehead. “Anytime.”

 

When the door shuts, and they are alone again, the cool washcloth is dragged across Bruce’s skin, where it clears away the lingering fluids, and the sweat. Bruce’s breathing still isn’t quite even, interrupted by tiny hiccups of aftershocks rattling through his abdomen.

“Alright,” Clark soothes, caressing Bruce’s hip as he cleans him. “Alright, love, we’re all done now. Are you ready to be untied now?”

It was supposed to be a token question, as Clark is already untying him, but dazedly Bruce begins to shift away from Clark’s hands, mumbling, “No.”

Clark stops. “No?”

“Just… just give me a second.” He shifts once more, and Clark watches as his calves and thighs and glutes and abdomen each flex experimentally in turn.

“What is it?”

“Am I…” Bruce begins, but he changes course again. “How was it?”

Clark smiles fondly, and strokes one of Bruce’s knees. “You were _phenomenal._ You were so, so _hot,_ and so good for me. How was it for you?”

Bruce frowns. “I just… want to go lower.”

This isn’t the first time Bruce has asked for this, and Clark understands it, at this point. They can have a sexually fulfilling scene, and Bruce will be left feeling not… quite… down enough. Not quite submissive enough. The thing he’s searching for, that headspace of unguarded feeling, doesn’t always come to him.

Clark takes a deep breath, and studies Bruce’s body one more time. “Alright,” he says. “A little more, then.”

First, he removes Bruce’s blindfold. This doesn’t much reassure Bruce that their scene will continue, but Clark wants to see his eyes, to really see him and to let Bruce see himself, the mess that he’s made.

“When Dinah pulled out, do you realize you were gaping open?” Clark asks. Bruce doesn’t respond, and Clark acts as if the conversation is an idle one, as he begins untying Bruce’s wrists. “Honestly, I’ve never seen you like that. So wide. Ravaged. Like a well-used toy.”

Bruce just stares ahead into middle distance, occasionally shutting his eyes, letting Clark’s words wash over him. He’s soft now, and unlikely to become hard again, but Clark can see the way his thighs flinch, the way he swallows apprehensively.

“I’d been thinking about sharing you with other people in the League, you know? I was thinking, you know. Barry could use some positive reinforcement, and maybe… Arthur, too? But it occurs to me, with you this… loose, and used,” (Clark runs his thumb against the rim of Bruce’s hole without warning, to punctuate this), “they might not get much use out of you, would they?”

When Bruce’s wrists are free, he grips Clark’s shoulders, because he knows better than to touch himself. He’s likely not allowed to touch himself.

“You’d have to make up for it with your mouth,” Clark muses. “Or perhaps they could share you, at the same time. I’m sure you’d like that.”

Bruce makes a noise, breathy and short, in the space between them.

“But then it occurred to me that maybe I’m not too keen to share you with anyone else.” Clark leans forward to kiss Bruce, and when they meet, and Clark pulls away, Bruce follows him, trying to prolong the kiss. Thirsty for Clark’s affection. Clark continues on the knots at Bruce’s ankles, saying, “I don’t mind showing them what they’re missing, showing them that you’re mine… but I won’t have anyone else touching you too frequently.”

In a shaky voice, Bruce mumbles, “No complaints here.”

“We’re agreed, then.”

The ropes are loose, and Clark lifts Bruce into his arms, kissing him soundly before floating them both to the other side of the room, to the bed.

They lie together, and Clark pulls the sheets over them both before wrapping himself around Bruce, tucking Bruce’s head beneath his chin. Bruce—at least, _this_ Bruce, in _this_ state—craves this sort of touch. He presses as close as possible and buries his face against Clark’s skin.

“Thanks,” he whispers, somewhere between Clark and the pillows.

“Anytime,” Clark replies, tangling their legs under the sheets. “Anything you want.”

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me on [my tumblr](http://mitzvahmelting.tumblr.com)


End file.
